we're the real uphill battle
by Kuro49
Summary: Chuck/Bryce. If they were a movie, it would be a bad one where the story is too long, the ending all wrong.


The premises are that Bryce gets kidnapped, Chuck plans a rescue mission to get him back, and Bryce ends up saving them both when Chuck gets captured along side. Just in case, since the actually fic doesn't explicitly state any of this. And yes, Chuck and Bryce have my heart in a vice.

XXX

**we're the real uphill battle**

XXX

If they were a movie, it would be a bad one where the story is too long, the ending all wrong.

Instead, their world is fractured all along the edge and there are enough plot holes to fall through. (Bryce could have let Chuck made his own choices and Chuck could have lived years of his life without a bitter weariness that only came from a betrayal of the very worst kind.) Chuck wants to nitpick but that's his life at stake, and really, he likes living just fine.

Battered and bruised is still not dead and Chuck has seen Bryce die two, too, many times to let it happen to himself (not that Bryce would ever let that happen but still.)

So he sits back in his restraints as Bryce fires the tranquilizer gun he takes from the back of Chuck's pants when Chuck is thrown into the same corner of the warehouse they have been keeping Bryce.

His breath catching in his throat as he watches Bryce and those rapid trigger pulling fingers, the punches he throws out and the ones he dodges without a hitch in his even breathing. And then there is a slump of bodies surrounding his ex-roommate and it's a sight he doesn't quite know how to wrap his head around.

Except that is Bryce and well, Bryce is _Bryce_.

And Chuck has learned to accept that too because Chuck is Chuck, and being that, he doesn't know how to look away, unsure of whether he has ever been capable of doing that. Bryce turns and walks to him, knees hurting as he hits the ground to kneel by Chuck's bounded feet.

His knuckles are bruised and bloody, his lips stretching out into a wide wide grin, all teeth and lips and real mirth in his eyes. "Come on, let's get you out."

Chuck rolls his eyes and drops the ropes he has been holding behind the chair as a show for the big bad. His wrists are a little red and rubbed raw from working at the knots behind his back. Chuck takes note of Bryce's proud little smile and takes the switchblade from Bryce's offered hand, "that was supposed to be my line, you know."

"Well, if it is any consolation, my shoulder is dislocated so I'll need your help with getting out of here."

Chuck stops halfway in sawing at the ropes to glance at the other, eyes a little wider, heart clenching just that much tighter in his chest at Bryce's open admittance. And that in itself is a rare thing, to have Bryce Larkin telling the world of his weakness.

Even if there is only one conscious enough to hear it.

"…No wonder your arm looks out of place."

Bryce scoffs and takes the blade from Chuck's hands, cutting through the knots in one clean swipe.

"…Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet."

The ropes fall free, his lips a gorgeous twist.

Chuck stands up and takes Bryce with him.

000

If they were a movie, it would be a great one where there are explosions and big guns and knives fight for a straight two hours and then some more. And of course, there would also be good-looking men with sky-blue eyes walking around with nothing but towels wrapped around their waist.

Except, Bryce is showing off his scars without a care for the way Chuck's heart pangs hurt (and arousal) at the sight of jagged white lines running against the skin, blossoms of gunshot wounds on his chest and stomach. He kind of hates Bryce for that. But more so for the streaks of water droplets gliding down the length of those legs.

Chuck swallows at the sight.

Bryce doesn't miss a thing, his eyes bright with amusement, lips curling into the start of a smirk at the way he has Chuck squirming in his seat. So Chuck complains in a huff, arms crossed over his chest in retaliation. "You make a terrible Princess Leia."

Bryce lets out a laugh. "It's the boobs, isn't it?"

"That and the hair," Chuck risks making a face, "and probably the fact that you suck at getting saved."

"It's reflex." Bryce shrugs and nearly bites off his tongue like he is only remembering his dislocated shoulder as an afterthought. Chuck winces for him.

Honestly, he doesn't know how Bryce is still walking around like he isn't in a fair amount of pain, doesn't understand how pain tolerance even works on Bryce's body. But there is only so much he can take.

"Okay, that's it. Sit down, Bryce. I can't look at you like this. I'll set your shoulder for you."

"You can?"

Chuck rolls his eyes.

"Ellie did it once for me, junior year of high school, I fell out of the Morgan Door."

"Just once?"

"I am a quick learner," he flashes him a quick smile, eyes just as bright, "trust me, Bryce."

The fact that Bryce doesn't do some crazy ninja move with his good hand to knock Chuck out when he gingerly puts a palm to his arm speaks volume (screams trust through a megaphone really). And while Bryce doesn't tell him that he can pop his shoulder back in with a well-placed wall and a bottle of finger-numbing scotch beforehand, Chuck doesn't tell him that he knows either.

And in quick succession, Bryce's mouth opens with a near silent gasp of relief the moment Chuck has his shoulder back in place. Why he doesn't ask for help earlier is beyond Chuck but like always, Bryce is Bryce and really, that is explanation enough.

"Thanks."

"Anytime."

So for all the trouble Bryce goes through to save Chuck from his own rescue mission gone wrong, Chuck feeds him scotch with his tongue, keeps his archetype hero drunk enough to sleep through the night without waking up once.

Come morning, they jerk each other off in the shower, steam smoking up the mirror. Dark lashes wet with water like tears when he meets his gaze. And it's mutual when they both bite back the urge to grin like the idiots in those sappy romantic comedies they swear they will never be.

If they were a movie, they would be a cult classic. One the critics doom to hell and back, the one with the lousy budget and mediocre acting and tons of unnecessary vision. And oh yes, of course they would be so bad, it is actually kind of good.

Their story is an epic one.

Or so they have convinced the world.

XXX Kuro

Friendly reminder: Dislocated shoulders are serious business, please don't get pleasantly drunk and go for a wall.


End file.
